


Painted Scars

by crunchie_morris



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Blood and Injury, Jackcrutchie if you squint i guess??, This isnt great i just havent written all week rip, maybe?? - Freeform, self harm tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 06:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchie_morris/pseuds/crunchie_morris
Summary: Some days, Jack wasn't sure just how much more he could take. Luckily, Crutchie seemed to have a special talent of knowing just when Jack needed him





	Painted Scars

Some days, Jack wasn't sure just how much more he could take. 

So many years. He’d spent so many years trapped in a hellhole of a city, occasionally being thrown in a hellhole called the Refuge (he assumed the name was a sick joke) for weeks, sometimes months, at a time. So many years were spent running until his legs felt like they were going to fall off, spent standing on street corners, telling his customers and himself different kinds of lies, spent sitting on a rooftop, blood, paint and dirt soaked into the skin.

He just wanted it to be done. 

Crutchie seemed to have a special talent of knowing just when Jack needed him, though. 

“Guess who sold all his papes,” Crutchie announced proudly as he made his way up the fire escape. “Even with the shitty headline.”

Jack leaned over to look down at the younger boy. “And they say  _ I'm _ the best in Manhattan. They ain’t never met you, huh?”

Crutchie nodded, his smile replacing the sunlight that seemed missing from the cloudy sky. “You best remember that, Kelly.”

Jack chuckled. “You need some help?”

“I got it,” Crutchie insisted, carefully making his way onto the roof. Sitting himself down besides Jack, he hummed contentedly. “How ‘bout you? Your day go good?”

Jack shrugged, the slight grin that had appeared when he first saw Crutchie fading. “I dunno.”

“Bad day?” Crutchie frowned.

“It's...fine.” Jack slipped his hand under his sleeve and began scratching again, as he’d been for at least an hour before Crutchie came. 

Crutchie nodded and stood up silently, disappearing down the fire escape once more. Jack sighed, knowing just where he'd gone. He returned a few moments later, holding just what Jack had guessed he'd gone to get.

Crutchie sat down beside Jack and placed a small bowl of water, a bar of soap, and a couple rags in front of them. 

Jack sighed. “I can clean myself up.”

Crutchie gave him a look that was somewhere between annoyed and sad, that wordlessly said  _ “We're the two most stubborn people in all of New York, Jackie. Let's not get into this.” _

Jack pushed up his sleeves and held his arms out to Crutchie. “You don’t gotta do this, waste your time on me. Go downstairs, play poker with the boys.”

Crutchie dunked one of the rags in the bowl of water and wrung it out. “I'm not wastin’ any time. I'm tired, I don't wanna go downstairs. I wanna be alone.”

Jack looked down. “Then, you can go be alone.”

“I wanna be alone with you,” Crutchie said as he began gently rubbing the wet rag on Jack's forearms. “I’d let you be alone by yourself if you wanted, but I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

Jack sighed again. “You're probably right.”

“When am I ever wrong?” Crutchie attempted to joke _.  _ “Does this hurt?”

Jack shook his head. “You're good.”

The pair was silent for a moment, Crutchie intently scrubbing the dirt and blood from Jack's arms, and Jack staring off at nothing in particular, just the cloudy Manhattan sky. 

Eventually, Crutchie spoke up, very quietly. “You know, if you ever wanna talk about it…”

Jack shrugged. “There’s not much to say. It's just a thing I do sometimes.”

“Don't it hurt?” Crutchie whispered.

Jack shook his head. “I mean, yeah, but not in the moment. It just feels like...like something. But not pain. Sometimes I don’t even realize I'm doin’ it.

Crutchie set the rag down and examined Jack’s scarred forearms. “I think...I think I might know something that should help.”

“You don't gotta do thi-”

“I want to, I want to,” Crutchie repeated, standing up and walking over to...Jack’s paints? 

“What’re you doing there, Crutch?” Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow as Crutchie scooped up some of the paints and a paint brush.

Crutchie sat down and spread out the paint next to the soap and rags. “Okay, I'm not the artist here, so...bear with me.”

Jack frowned. “You never answered me.”

Crutchie continued to ignore him, dipping his brush into a jar of blue paint. He tapped the brush on the rim of the jar a couple times, letting a few drops fall back inside, as he'd seen Jack frequently do when he painted. Then, he grabbed Jack's left arm and painted over one of the scars.

Jack watched as he did so, his face growing more and more confused. “Why?”

“‘Cause paint feels like something,” Crutchie said. “Plus, the paint is cold - it might help when it starts to hurt.”

Jack nodded, prodding the blue line on his upper arm, feeling the sticky, cold paint. “That makes sense. Can you keep doin’ it?”

So, they fell into silence again, as Crutchie painted blue lines over each and every one of Jack’s fresh scratches and old scars. “Bet you could make somethin’ pretty outta this.” Crutchie murmured at one point.

Jack had eventually shifted so that he was laying down, his head in Crutchie's lap and his arms laid across his chest for Crutchie to paint. As Crutchie began adding green streaks to the blue, he noticed Jack nodding off. Being at war with yourself was deeply exhausting. 

“You ready to sleep, Jack?” Crutchie asked.

“You can finish,” Jack mumbled, presumably half-asleep. “‘S a good feelin’, relaxin’.”

Crutchie smiled at Jack’s drowsy tone. “So long as it ain’t keepin’ you from rest.”

“Mmm, definitely not,” Jack grinned slightly. “You're good.”

A few more silent moments passed. Crutchie was sure Jack had fallen asleep. But, just as Crutchie went to set the brush down beside him, Jack stirred and grabbed one of Crutchie’s hand, tangling his fingers with his. 

“Thank you,” Jack looked up at Crutchie, seriousness in his eyes. “Thank you for remindin’ me that there are a few people out there who still care about me, and that one of those people should be me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This really isn't great but I just needeneeded to write this week aghhh. If you enjoyed, would you be so kind as to leave a review? Thanks!!


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